


Haunted House

by dismaltemperament



Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, House Party, Identity Issues, One Night Stands, i got fucking bullied into posting this, rated m just 2 be safe, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25022725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismaltemperament/pseuds/dismaltemperament
Summary: (i was buried in the summer / all those parties ago / and i try not to remember / 'til my body lets me go)Millicent is eighteen years old and she's never been kissed. One mysterious boy at the last party of her senior year changes that.
Relationships: Millicent/Japeth (The School for Good and Evil), Reena/Sophie (The School for Good and Evil)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 23





	Haunted House

**Author's Note:**

> this WILL ruin the song haunted house by sirbabygirl for you, just saying

Millicent ducks into the kitchen and lets out a sigh of relief. The music’s only a dull roar here, and she finally feels like she can breathe. The party outside was suffocating her, forcing her into a shadow because of how out of her element she was.

She should’ve known this party would be a complete bust. A sprawling mess, just like every other party Millicent’s ever attended. Not that anything’s gone wrong—everyone’s having a great time throwing their asses back in the living room—but Millicent’s never felt more alone. She’s been left behind just like always, sad little Millie. 

It’s the end of their senior year—that’s what this party is being hosted in honor of—and Millicent doesn’t have a single good memory to look back on from high school. Sure, she’s got her girls, but she’s always been stuck in their shadows, and there’s denying it. Beatrix is the head cheerleader on route to Howard, Reena’s been accepted to Oxford on a full scholarship, Kiko is going into the top in-state program for marine biology… the list goes on. But what about Millicent? Millicent’s got nothing waiting for her back at home. She’s not even sure she wants to go to college.

Beatrix has tried to convince her time and time again that parties are great for letting loose. Millicent doesn’t _want_ to let loose or go crazy—she just wants to fill this void inside of her, to feel whole in a way she hasn’t felt in years. But a few shots of vodka won’t do that for her, will it?

The party is carrying on without her. She’ll probably end up crying herself to sleep in a spare bedroom upstairs. She turns on her heel, eyes glued to the floor, and steps deeper into the kitchen.

Something clatters above her. She startles, jumping to attention, and her eyes go wide. Reena’s just entered the kitchen from the other door, and she’s not alone. Sophie’s got her pinned against the counter, kissing her feverishly.

Millicent doesn’t know what to do or say. She stares. And then she stops, because that’s rude. Her fists clench and unclench. Is she mad? Jealous? What is she doing here. Oh God—is that a tear dripping down her face?

She looks back up. The other girls haven’t noticed her, and their making out is only getting more heated. 

Millicent darts out of the kitchen and she doesn’t look back.

She skirts down the walls of the living room, embracing the shadows that hide her face. It’s nearly pitch dark here. There’s a few lit up phones on the dance floor, but otherwise, she can’t see a thing.

Reena’s had a crush on Sophie for ages. It’s great that they finally got together—so why does Millicent feel like crying? She feels _jealous_ , but it’s not like she has feelings for one of them. It’s because she hasn’t kissed anyone, not ever, and the realization is so sad and sudden that it causes her to scrunch the hem of her skirt in frustration.

She’s eighteen years old and she’s never shared a kiss. Never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend, never so much as a crush. Is she broken? When she was little, her Mama told her to wait for the _one,_ to not go around kissing every pretty person she meets. To this day, she doesn’t know if that’s good advice or sexist nonsense. She doesn’t know _anything_ , and tomorrow she’s walking across a stage to signify the end of her education. 

Millicent wants to cry. She wants to go back home and wallow in her pain. She wants a sleepover with the girls where she doesn’t have to worry about acting cool because they’ll love her no matter what, like when they were in middle school. She wants her Mama to hug her and tell her it’ll be alright. She wants—she _needs_ something more than this, this empty, all-encompassing void. 

In her misery, she doesn’t notice the couch next to her or the person sitting on it. She bumps right into him, their knees slamming together. 

“Watch where you’re going, bitch,” he growls out.

Millicent straightens herself, a scowl on her face. She looks down at the boy on the couch, watches the way his icy blue eyes flicker across the dance floor in front of them. He’s got a head of red hair that extends down to his neck, held up by a little ponytail, although the shade of red is much darker than Millicent’s. It almost looks brown in the low light. He’s wearing nondescript black clothing—actually, everything about him other than the hair and the eyes is nondescript. He’s almost handsome, in a cold, pasty way. Millicent doesn’t recognize him from anywhere, but he looks about her age. Are they in school together? How has she never noticed him in the hall? 

He looks as horrible as she feels, not that that improves this situation in the slightest. She starts to respond, thinking up a reply as nasty as his remark, when something bumps into her from behind. Probably just a stupid, drunk dancer, but it sends her sprawling forward. Sprawling right into the moody boy’s lap.

“Oh,” Millicent says, the wind knocked out of her.

“Oh,” the boy says, eyeing her arms, which she reflexively, put on either side of his head to hold onto the cushion of the couch. Her legs are spread, knees around his waist, skirt crowded at her thighs. It’s admittedly a very proactive position to be in.

She’s too frozen in shock to do anything at first. He’s not, though—he puts each hand on one of her legs, fingers just inches away from where her skirt bunched up.

“Hey…” Should she be fighting him off right now? In all honesty, it feels kind of nice. She shouldn’t be on him, that’s for sure—but then he glances up at her again, blue eyes shining, and suddenly, he looks a hell lot more handsome.

Millicent isn’t an idiot. She’s seen the movies; she knows where this is going. And still, she kisses him. Places her lips right on his.

He reciprocates instantly, mouth pressing against her own. He tastes like cigarettes and spice, foreign yet familiar. So this is what it’s like to kiss someone? It’s not what she expected.

It’s only been a few seconds. She begins to pull away, thinking she’s overstepped—the reality of what she’s doing is finally sinking in—but he just kisses her harder, and she figures she hasn’t completely messed this up yet.

The kiss for a while and keep their eyes shut when their mouths part. Millicent doesn’t know how long it’s been. Her hands are tangled in his hair, and his are making their way up her legs. She feels hot, not in a bad way—but she still clamps her hands down on his.

“What’s your name,” she says dryly, less like a question and more like a statement.

“Japeth,” he breathes. She almost laughs; what a funny name. 

“Should we take this upstairs, Japeth?” she asks, eyes trained to the faint stubble on his chin.

“Yeah,” he says, gaze flickering up.

She slides off of him and pats her skirt down. When he stands, he extends like a ladder, towering over her by nearly a foot at his full height. She gets so caught up just looking at him that she almost doesn’t hear him say, “Lead the way.”

Right. She’s doing this. She’s—she’s taking a boy she just met upstairs. Because it feels… good. Natural. Like it was meant to happen. Like fate.

She grabs his hand, nodding once.

Next thing she knows, they’re in a bedroom and he’s shutting the door behind him as he leans down to kiss her. She hears the door click shut, but her eyes are on Japeth as she leads him back toward the bed. 

This is Yara’s house, if she remembers correctly. She’s been here a few times with Kiko. _This_ won’t be a problem—people do this all the time, yeah?  
(She prays this isn’t Yara’s room.)

Japeth tackles her to the bed, pinning her down by the shoulders, his lips on her neck. She gasps, then growls, then moans as he hands travel down, down, down—

He goes for her shirt. It’s a tight spaghetti strap tank top, and he’s only able to roll it up past her belly button. Doesn’t stop him from sticking his hand up it, though. She rolls her eyes, sitting up so he can properly pull it off of her.

He doesn’t give her a chance to feel embarrassed by the exposed skin. He pushes her back down, chest pressed against chest, fingers dusting over the clasp of her bra. She claws at his back, mostly to keep herself stable, and he lets out a little grunt, low and animistic. She pushes her hands up his shirt—it’s only fair if they’ve both got them off, right?—and then she hears the scream.

The music downstairs cuts off abruptly. Silence, and then the sound of feet thumping around frantically. Someone’s shouting something, the same word, over and over again—

“ _Cops,_ ” she and Japeth realize at the same time.

He leaps off the bed and takes her with him, hand clasped around her wrist. She sputters out a protest, reaching for her shirt they left behind, but he’s far stronger and stags her out into the hallway.

Everything’s happening at once. People are running upstairs, downstairs, shoving past her on their way. If anyone notices that she’s shirtless, they don’t care. (Thank God she chose a bra with straps this morning.) Japeth leads her back down to the living room, seemingly immune to her protests, before he pulls her aside underneath the staircase.

He turns to face her and she crosses her arms over her chest, cheeks flushed red. How did she get in this situation? Twenty minutes ago, she was Millie, alone and boring and plain. Now she’s standing shirtless in front of a hot boy who doesn’t know her name.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, glaring. At least he’s looking at her face and not… anywhere else. 

He shrugs out of his own shirt.

Millicent’s eyes go wide—

He thrusts it towards her. “Just put it on.”

Her mouth forms an ‘O’. She blinks, then snatches the shirt from him and pulls it over her head. It’s a long-sleeve v-neck made of wool, easily three sizes too big for her. But it covers her up, and that’s what’s important.

When she looks back up, Japeth’s moved to the other wall, eyes pinned toward the direction of the front door. He swears, then turns his back on her. She watches as he hoists himself up to the windowsill.

“Hey! Wait for me!” Millicent squawks, chasing after him. 

He doesn’t wait up. Japeth pushes the window open and hops through, disappearing from her sight altogether. Millicent frowns, looking back—no, the cops will be in here any second. She can hear the sirens outside. This is her best bet, climbing through the window; it leads to the opposite side of the house, so she won’t be spotted exiting. 

“Here goes nothing.”

She has to channel all her inner strength and adrenaline to pull herself up. The window is about five and a half feet off the floor, just low enough for her to reach. If anyone’s around, they’re probably able to see up her skirt as she pulls a leg up to the windowsill to level the rest of her body.

Against all odds, she makes it up, almost immediately tumbling out the other side. She lands on Japeth, who doesn’t do much to break her fall, but it’s better than hitting cement.

After standing up and shaking the soreness out of her legs, she extends a hand to him. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she laughs. 

He takes one good, hard look at her hand. “We’ve _got_ to get away from this house before the cops find us.”

She lets her hand drop. _Right._

They take off running into the dark. Yara lives in a rural part of town; there isn’t another house for miles, just empty fields. The moon and the stars light their way, the dew in the grass tickling their ankles.

She lost her heels back at the house, and she’s not sure Japeth ever had shoes on to begin with. Eventually, their feet ache in protest, and they have no choice but to stop. They collapse into the grass, side by side, far away from any other human life. 

Millicent gasps for air, chest rising and falling, face flushed and hands cold. The air feels humid and hot, but her bare legs are chilly. She wonders if Japeth is cold without his shirt. She doesn’t offer to give it back.

She turns her head so that she’s facing him. They’re inches apart, but he’s facing directly above them, eyes on the moon.

“I’m Millicent, by the way,” she says. The absurdity of the fact that she’s only telling him this _now_ makes her laugh, all hearty and full of love, but when he stays silent, her giggles die off quickly.

They sit like that for a minute. Millicent isn’t sure what to make of him.

Finally, Japeth turns toward her, and she has to cross her eyes just to stay focused on his face. 

“So I should probably mention that I’m gay,” he starts bluntly.

“W-what?” 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “My boyfriend dumped me for the fifth time in three months earlier tonight, and I thought the problem might be that I, you know, don’t really like men. But nope. I definitely like men. You confirmed that.”

“Oh…” 

“Yeah, I was super drunk earlier. Sorry about that.” He sits up, stretching his arms over his head.

“Are you leaving?” she asks quietly.

“Yup.” He pulls a phone out of his pants pocket and opens it to a texting app, no doubt asking for a ride.

God, that reminds her—she left her phone at Yara’s house, in the purse she hung on the coat rack. Hopefully it’s still there and in one piece.

Japeth doesn’t offer to take her home or call her a ride. He doesn’t even say goodbye. Just stands up and starts walking away.

Millicent can’t bring herself to move. 

She sits there for hours or maybe minutes, eyes growing heavy as she thinks the night over. She might be stuck here forever. Or maybe she’ll decompose like a dead deer, be swallowed up by the Earth around her. That doesn’t seem like such a bad way to go.

Not bad at all…

* * *

Yara and Beatrix find her in the early hours of the morning. They hoist her up together and drag her back to Reena’s car, which is parked on the street that was only a few feet away, behind a treeline. They don’t ask how she got there or why she’s wearing a shirt that smells like cheap men’s cologne. They let her sleep on Beatrix’s shoulder during the car ride and talk quietly between themselves—Beatrix, Reena, Sophie (who’s got her hand on Reena’s knee), Yara, and Millicent. All together again. One big, happy family.

She doesn’t catch much of what they say in her sleepy haze, but recognizes Yara’s driveway as they pull in. She sits up and doesn’t miss the concerned looks the girls give her.

“I think I’m asexual,” she announces to the car.

Beatrix gives her a small smile. “That’s great, Millie.”

**Author's Note:**

> special fangs to the davy & stu stan chat, i wouldn't have written this without yall xx


End file.
